


Masquerade

by Davechicken



Series: The Emperor and his Knight [22]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-26 19:16:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7586605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The importance of the correct attire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Masquerade

Poe has read the same paragraph of this report at least five times. Maybe more. His eyes are starting to feel gritty and grimy, and he’s not sure that the words are even in Basic. There’s a collection of swirls and curls and sticks and…

…yeah, he needs to stop. He pinches his nose, trying to work out if the feeling is caf-related (too much? Too little? When did he lose the ability to tell?), or if it needs some meds, or if he’s hungry. He puts the tablet down and stands. The chrono says it’s late, and that means Kylo will be home before long. Good. He goes through to the ‘fresher unit, stripping and jumping into the shower. Warm water does miracles, and so does a glass of water when he gets out. He grabs a quick snack and pulls out one of his finer uniforms ready to greet his beloved Knight. 

Kylo always appreciates the crisp lines of this one: sleek black, accented with gold. The cloak is really not needed when it isn’t either cold outside, or high pomp and ceremony for some occasion, but Kylo is all the occasion he needs.

When Kylo comes back, he lifts his head in greeting and sees how Poe is dressed, and his reaction is more than worth the effort of primping and preening. Even through the mask, he can see the way Kylo’s head snaps towards him: inexorable, inescapable. He’s caught in a nose-dive, and Poe is only too happy to be the point of impact.

Immediately, his Knight’s stance changes. He almost always enters the room with basic respect (unless he’s had a really crappy day and he just needs to fume, or be gently cuddled), but the scene is set and he falls into step at once. His masked eyes keep his head even, and one hand goes to his knee and the other behind his back as he dips into genuflection. His gaze falls down, and he waits for acknowledgement.

“What does my Knight have to report to me?”  


“My Lord, the new Knights are progressing well, and Salia has taken surprisingly well to training them. The Empire grows strong under your aegis.”  


“Good, Lord Ren.” Poe purrs the praise, sees how it makes Kylo blossom below him. He _radiates_ his contentment, and Poe laps it up like the finest liquor.  


“My Lord, how may I serve you?”  


“You take your Knights very seriously, don’t you?”  


“…yes, my Lord?”  


It isn’t a question that he does, more why Poe is bringing this up. Kylo’s confusion hums in his voice, and his head tilts almost comically.

“It pleases me that you take such pride in them,” he explains. “But you know you owe your allegiance to me, don’t you?”  


“Yes, my Lord.”   


“I want you to strip from the boots upwards. Slowly. I want to see what I own.”  


Kylo ‘s hands go to the first boot, prising it from his foot. The sock is pushed inside, and the second one meets its twin. He pushes them to one side, and then rises in a sinuous promise of more. 

Oh, so much more. Kylo’s really come into himself remarkably well. He’d been a shy young boy, and then an awkward teen, but once they’d become lovers, he’d slowly bloomed to an inner confidence. And once they’d rid the galaxy of that monstrous beast… well. Kylo glowed brighter every day.

His hands work over the broad belt, unfastening it. It clips and slides open, and is sent to sit beside the boots. The pants slide down, down-down-down over too-long legs. Pale, but taut. Poe loves those legs. The firm calves, the muscular thighs… his eyes slide from ankle up to knee and beyond, and he has to swallow at the sight of his beloved removing his black boxers.

Underneath, Kylo is well on the way to hard. His cock should take longer to fill, considering how nicely long and thick it _is_ , but Kylo’s a responsive lover, and Poe is grateful for that fact. His dick sways in greeting between them, waving from the nest of dark, tight curls. Poe admires the colour it’s turning, and then looks up to see Kylo unfasten the cowl and move that, too. His gloves come off, showing porcelain-white hands, and next go the outer robe and under layers. 

He has a rather deliciously long neck. Poe likes to lave his love there, long licks and tender bites. He could seal his mouth around it, right now. Could gulp down the broken sounds of–

“No.”  


“…Master?”  


“You’re a Knight, are you not?”  


Kylo’s hands hesitate by his head. His thumbs are already nudging the helmet release clasps, but Poe has something else in mind.

“I am, Master.”  


“Then I’m going to fuck you like one. Want to hear what a Knight sounds like, when he loses control. Want to hear your breathing break.”  


The man _sways_ , wavers like he’s lost in a storm and he’s nothing more than a black sheet of tarpaulin. His hands drop, and so does he. Down to his knees, but both, this time. His hands hit the floor in a show of submission, his masked head lowered.

It looks so out of place, like this. Like this, on a man of fragile skin and bone. A mask that would only protect him from blows to one place, and which serves to deny eye-contact proper, and modulates his voice. It’s a not-him, but it’s also… him. Kylo _is_ of Ren. Even though he’s also of Dameron. The Knights give Kylo a purpose of his own, even if it aligns perfectly with their mutual aims. 

The Force is Kylo’s, and although Poe will never know it in the same way, he can appreciate it from outside. And also… well. He’s thought about this a few times, to be honest. Faced with it, it’s everything he hoped for. 

“Crawl to the bed, and climb on. Stay on all fours. Spread your legs.”  


It’s quite the sight when he does. Kylo even makes that sexy, and Poe watches until he’s out of sight, and then waits until the noises indicate he’s in place. 

He carries lube at all times. He has to, now, or Kylo ends up sore, and not in good ways. Poe opens the bottle and squirts a sizeable amount onto his fingers. He walks into the bedroom, finding his husband ready and waiting… and greets him by sliding two fingers into him.

Okay, so it’s still a little on the rough side, but they both _like_ it rough. Kylo moans appreciatively, moving away from the intrusion, only to push back. “Good boy. Come on, pet, show me how much you want this.”

“Yes, Master.”  


His voice is deeper, more resonant. It’s still _him_ underneath it all, another him, but him all the same. The feel of his body fighting to relax, the way he has to slide his fingers left and right to wind them deeper… Kylo meets his movements unerringly and they slip into a rhythm. Poe brushes his other hand at the nape of his neck, where his helmet nudges at his spine, and he feels the shudder travelling up his spine. So, so responsive. 

Deeper in, sliding a third alongside. Kylo spreads his legs wider, purring his appreciation, babbling nonsense promises through the modulator. He sounds destroyed, and Poe hasn’t even touched his cock yet. Three, and he flattens them like an S-foil deploying, and he curls them inside, making his lover thrash and grab the sheets, riding his hand like mad. His hair flickers out like snake-tails under the helmet, but seeing it there, with the rest of him bare and flushed and needy… oh fuck yes.

“Do you want me to fuck you, pet?”  


“Yes! Yes, Master, please!”  


“Want me to slide into you? Shape you around my dick?”  


“ _A million times yes._ **Please**.”  


Poe grins. He pulls his fingers out, then frees his cock. Pumps himself quickly to full attention (not difficult, when his beloved is like this), then slides in home. It always feels good, but even more so when Kylo’s already babbling. His Knight purrs as he grabs his hips, starting up a steady, sure pace. Slam, slam, slamslamslam. He inches it higher, rocking to the balls of his feet as he thrusts up and in, chasing his own pleasure more than Kylo’s. 

He normally doesn’t need to worry. Kylo is such a horny little pet that he can fuck him blind and begging with the barest effort, and now is no exception. Poe reaches up for the few inches of hair he can reach under the helmet, and Kylo’s head bends back as he rolls out nonsensical love-stories.

A hand reaches around and finds Kylo’s attention-starved cock, and he’s coming before Poe is anywhere _near_ done. Seriously? A few sloppy strokes and he’s finished?

Which is not what Poe was planning on, or expecting. Gratifying as it is to know how much this turns Kylo on…

He pulls out, making Kylo whimper in protest. “S-sorry, Sir, I–”

“Roll. Onto your back. Now.”  


Kylo does so, cringing into himself. Poe climbs up and over him, straddling his torso, and slams a hand over his throat. 

“Master, I–”  


“Shut up,” Poe growls, though he isn’t angry. Kylo needs to learn his place. He hadn’t asked permission, and so now Poe is going to punish him. Punish him so fucking hard.   


Kylo loves being covered and filled with come, and he’s going to rob him of it: or maybe, give him _more than he planned for_. He keeps the Knight in place as his hand blurs over his cock, and the thought is enough to trip the last switch. He paints sticky, gloopy threads all over his mask: trailing through the grille-lines, splattering his visor, highlighting his muzzle. The white looks shocking against black, and Poe admires his handiwork for a moment.

“… _thank you, Sir_.”  


“I’m not sure you deserved it,” Poe says, and climbs off the bed. He’s going to need another shower, and so is Kylo.  


He might even let him in with him. Although the mask probably has to come off for this, right…?


End file.
